Waiting
by mockingjayne
Summary: "He'd worried so much about her safety that he'd turned a blind eye to his own. His split focus having almost cost him his life today."


The grainy image rests heavily in his back pocket. The enormity of its contents spilling over like adrenaline being shot straight to the heart. He grips the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning a shade of ghost at the thought that he almost missed out.

Light streams in through the car window from the city above, not letting its presence be ignored, casting wilted shadows across his stubbled face. His tired eyes, wide awake, refusing to give into his want of sleep, until his need of resting his eyes on the figure that will dissipate the qualm he can't quite shake.

Weaving his way through the streets, he pulls up to the familiar building. All but sprinting into the elevator, impatiently staring at the lit numbers as he travels up, up, and then down the hall. He pauses when he comes to the door. Hesitation sweeps over him, a kind of frozen fear that he hadn't felt since he was ten years old, but now he finds it screaming back to him more often than not since she stumbled back into his life.

He can recall all too clearly, the panicked cries of her mother, frantically searching for the little girl throughout the house, as he groggily awoke to an empty upstairs, his best friend missing. Opening the door to her bedroom, expecting to see her emerald eyes reflecting back at him, only to find rustled bed sheets, cold from having been vacated for so long. He hadn't even waited for the police to arrive, before racing outside, making a beeline straight for the woods behind their houses. Careening through the trees, branches reaching out, grabbing him by his clothes, scraping his sides as he made his way to the tucked away safe haven they'd created.

It was her favorite spot. She loved small, enclosed spaces, less room to have to control, he imagined her reasoning. The stick and brush shielding her from the outside, his warmth pressing close to her own, letting her know that she was safe, protected.

He'd waited there past dark, rolling himself in a ball, unsure whether it was from the wind hollering it's cold chill through the badly engineered spacing of the trees of the fort or the empty void left by her presence, unsure when of if she'd ever return.

From then on, he'd spent more than his fair share of time beating himself up, going through every what-if, should've, could've, would've that his mind could conjure. All the while, a creeping suspicion that the man he'd looked up to all those years, was likely responsible for her disappearance, never death (because he couldn't even allow his mind to believe that she was gone from this earth in a permanent way).

He'd gotten older, stronger, studier in his belief that one day, she would come back to him. Like living with a ghost, clinging to her memory was his pastime, and he secretly used up every resource he could, to make sure no avenue had been left unturned in the search for the girl who still haunted his memories.

Climbing the ranks had been easy for him. When it came to protecting others, he was always a no hold bars type of guy. He was calculated, doing what he had to do to keep, not only his team, but the victims safe. Because for as much as professionalism has been praised, he couldn't help but make every case just the tiniest bit personal. As the paperwork was turned in and another case came to a close, he was couldn't help himself from shuddering out that last bit of hope that one day, it would be his girl that was found, taken home.

But for as much as he imagined the day that she would come back, he'd failed to think of what the ramifications of her being found would be. The overwhelming need to keep her safe, not even on the outskirts of his mind, but front and center, every single minute. This intense feeling that he was going to lose her. That she'd be taken from him again. That any given second, she could silently slip right under his nose, lost to him for good this time.

This need had only increased tenfold lately. And he'd become well accustomed with _the look_ Jane would give him when he found himself hovering just a bit too much. Being treated like glass was not something she appreciated, and only seemed to become more defiant the more he helicoptered over her.

But although he'd physically let up on the overprotective act, he couldn't convince his mind to pay no mind. The incessant sirens always going off in his head to check on her, make sure she was okay.

He'd worried so much about her safety that he'd turned a blind eye to his own. His split focus having almost cost him his life today.

Opening the door, the silence is deafening in the dark. His boots casting echoes throughout the room, as he steps inside on the hardwood floor. Turning, he deadbolts the door, one last act of protection, before quickly making his way down the hall, his hand falling to make sure the contents of his pocket are still there. The itching of anxiety bubbling up underneath the surface, only to quelled by the sight of that image that had eluded him so many years ago.

The bedroom door creaks open, the soft glow of the muted television dancing across the duvet that's illuminated in its path.

He crouches down, his hand running along the seams of the design, until a soft mound elevates into dips that carry his fingers over and across until he's touching the inky outline of her bare shoulder. Her soft breaths floating to meet his own, as his hand continues it's journey, reaching her black tresses.

At this, she startles, eyes flashing open, only for recognition to wash over her face. Her eyes flutter closed, at the realization, her hand reaching out to grip his forearm.

"Kurt," she hums, contentedly.

And with that, all the unease of today's events seep from his body, his shoulders slumping with the weight dissipating, releasing a brilliant, relieved smile to spread across his face.

"Hey," he whispers back.

"I got worried when you didn't come home," she sighs. "Are you okay?"

He moves to kiss her temple, the soft pulsating throb meeting his lips upon contact, steadying his nerves, assuring him that despite the close call today, he's here, she's real.

"I'm good now," he murmurs against her.

He moves to strip out of his clothes, making sure to carefully place the object from his pocket on the nightstand, before slipping into their warm haven.

Her hand finds purchase resting against his chest. The same steady thump he felt against his lips, now giving her comfort.

He attempts to pull her closer, only to meet resistance in the form of her ever expanding stomach. Looking down, he gently pushes her shirt up, his hand no longer able to cover the expanse of skin appearing in front of him.

The ink stretching, contorting many of her tattoos into even more indiscernible shapes than before. His favorite image, as of lately, the slight ripple that makes it's way underneath his fingers if he places his hand just right. His little girl squirming to greet him, bringing a soft smile to Jane's face, as he glances up, seeing her watching his every move.

She shifts, turning over, bringing his hand with her, protectively draping it over her stomach. She scoots further back, contouring her backside into him.

He finds his lips hovering over the scar present on her neck, a reminder of all he could've lost and was once again found. He faintly traces the slight raise with his lips, before placing a tender kiss right over the visibly healed wound.

His thumb rubs tranquil circles over her belly, her even breathing signaling she's already fallen back to sleep.

The television still shifting colors, reflecting off the glossy image now resting on the nightstand. The worn sonogram softly fluttering with the breeze of the fan.

The weight of both of his girls against him, safe, a much better image than the one he'd awoken to as a child. His bed was full. His heart was full. The promise of a future with them, exactly what he needed to get him home.

"Yeah, I'm good now," he whispers into the silent night.

xxxxx

 _AN: JELLER BABY. Because after listening to "Waiting" by Bootstraps on repeat all week, and the sheer mention of Jeller babies had me spiraling with this idea. The topic itself was something I'd wanted to write for a while, but wasn't sure if it was too soon, given we've only had 10 episodes and one kiss. But the heart wants what the heart wants…and I apparently wanted to write about babies. Hopefully you all enjoyed._

 _This was a new point of view for me to write. Usually, I'm first person, Jane, all the way. So this was…different. Please review, let me know what you think. Thanks._


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